


The Cookie Monster

by ShahHira



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Halloween, Haunted Septiween, M/M, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:19:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5039026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShahHira/pseuds/ShahHira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What really happens to Jack when he faces his worst enemy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cookie Monster

**Author's Note:**

> This popped into my head originally as a really fluffy and silly piece but it grew into something with a bit more meat on it (as it always ends up with me), though this did get quite out of hand towards the middle and end. I'm not too fond about those parts, but it is what it is.  
> But it's for shitsquiettime's Halloween Haunted Septiween special and I wanted to do something since she got me in the mood! Thanks for inspiring me to write this!  
> P.S. There may be a sequel... ;D

He stands in front of the fire. Blazing tendrils lick at Jack’s face but he does not back away. Instead, he sighs, melancholy, and stares into the flames. Just him and the fire. The smoke feels oddly refreshing, yet wants to cough. Is this too dramatic? Is this really necessary?

Yes. He needs to do this.

Then, the smell hits him and he flinches, a grimace twisting his face even as burning desire courses through his veins, almost enough for him to jump into the blaze but he presses it down. An unnatural pain throbs in his chest. He forces himself to sit down.

Only after the pain settles into an ache does he look to his side, spotting the package he brought. He grabs it, hearing the alluring crinkle of plastic. And before he knows it, his fingers are on the seal, ready to break it open and he just manages to yank them back. Frustration steams inside him.

He smacks the package out of his hand and into the fire, disgusted. He lifts his sweatshirt to cover his nose and squeezes a hand over it, backing away. Still the smell reaches him.

He turns and leaves before he does something he would regret.

______

Back from work. Cold, windy. It wouldn’t be October without the shitty weather.

Jack trudges into the apartment building. Feet dragging, hands stuffed in pockets. No wonder everyone got out of his way today. He’d stay away from himself if he could. Getting into the elevator, he sluggishly smacks the button for the ninth floor. The door shuts slowly. “God damn it…” Jack sighs impatiently and leans on the wall. Good thing no one else is in there with him.

It’s a relief to be in his room. He plops face-down on the sofa, taking a simple comfort in doing nothing at all. For a few minutes he lays there, motionless. This has become a routine of his for quite some time.

“Ah, shit…” Jack groans into the sofa. The mail. He forgot to pick up the mail.

He heaves himself up and doesn’t bother to lock his door, flipping his hood up, the baggy clothing hiding his slim frame. He doesn’t feel like being a normal functioning human being today.

He winces. Bad choice of words.

Thump, thump, thump. Down the stairs. Take keys, shove into the lock, turn. This is now his life. Thunder rumbles in the background. Great. Another storm. He remembers when he used to like storms. Now he just wants to be warm.

Mark’s room is warm.

He growls audibly. “Get a grip, Jack…” He clutches at the coarse envelopes and shoots a glare at the person who gives him an odd look. He thrusts the papers in his pockets and strides off to the elevator, pushing the button with unnecessary force. Mark probably doesn’t even like him. The man just up and left one day when he knocked on Mark’s door for their weekly gaming sessions. He didn’t even tell Jack that he was gone.

Jack huffs and pulls at his hood. Well, why should he? They’re only friends, and neighbors at that.

He wishes they were more.

_Do_ not _go down that train of thought_. He purses his lips, cheeks heating up in spite of his efforts. He tugs at his hood even more and finally the elevator opens up and he steps in. He shivers, suddenly cold.

Who is he kidding? He misses the doof.

“Wait! Hold the elevator!”

A man rushes into the elevator and, by sound of it – since Jack’s hood covers half his vision – is loaded down with numerous bags of groceries. Breathing hard, he drops them all. “Thanks, man. Ninth floor.”

Jack’s eyes widen at the accent. “ _Mark?”_ He throws back his hood.

The doors close. “Jack…? Hey! Good to see you!” He’s quickly enveloped in a giant hug. Mark is still breathing heavy and Jack feels delicate puffs on his neck. His face hurts from his unexpectedly giant smile.

The elevator starts to move up and they split. Warm hands rest on his waist. “I just got back yesterday. I know, I know, it’s a bit sudden. But you know how Halloween is my favorite holiday, and I couldn’t miss that! Well, aside from Christmas, but…” He shrugs and giggles, and it is a beautiful sound. Jack now realizes his hands are on Mark’s elbows. Though he doesn’t seem to notice. “Guess what? I just got my hands on a new game. You wanna come try it out at my place?”

Jack nods dumbly. “Ah… sure, why not?”

“Great!” Mark practically jumps in place. “Great. Awesome! Ah, here we go…” The elevator opens up and Mark swiftly moves to swipe up his many bags, already halfway out onto the floor. “C’mon,” he urges and grabs Jack’s wrist, pulling him through the door and down the hall. How Mark runs faster than him while loaded down, Jack will never know. Instead, he laughs happily at the carefree sight.

Mark bursts through his door and all at once warmth surrounds Jack. “Make yourself comfortable, you know the drill, blah, blah, blah…” Mark says as he rushes to the kitchen, a whirlwind of activity. Jack drops onto the couch, smiling like a lunatic. It feels good to be back.

After a moment Mark comes back and seats himself next to him, holding up two controllers. He tosses one to Jack. “You. Me. Rocket League. Let’s go!” He laughs, giddy, grin so sincere. It blinds Jack with its heavenly light.

But he just replies, “You’re on!”

______

They play for hours: first Rocket League, then Mortal Kombat, and then Amnesia – on Mark’s insistence, just to get into the horror mood. As Jack is absorbed in solving a puzzle, Mark slips away quietly. Jack, too focused to notice, continues on. Until he hears a voice: “Pst, hey! Jack...”

Jack only grunts in reply, concentrating on the game. The lights had been dimmed for further immersion, so he jumps in his seat when Mark suddenly appears in front of him. “Come on,” Mark presses, and he grabs Jack’s hands, pulling him up and making him drop the controller.

“Wha– Mark! The game–”

“Just come with _me_ ,” Mark pleads, and Jack reluctantly lets him, rolling his eyes. He’s led to the kitchen, which is very dark and the hands release their grip, which he is not too happy about. He loses sight of Mark. Just then, the door behind him closes, startling him.

“Very funny,” Jack chuckles nervously, tugging at his hoodie. Oh God, why is so hot?

At first, there’s nothing. Then, a candle lights out of the darkness. Then:

_Happy birthday to you…_

A melodious, deep voice sings and delightful chills run down Jack’s spine. A second candle lights itself.

_Happy birthday to you…_

He’s smiling so wide he fears his face might break but that’s okay. Jack hasn’t felt this way in months. A third candle lights.

_Happy birthday, dear Jack…_

_Happy birthday to you._

The voice tapers down low as the fourth candle lights. And it’s magical.

“Boo!” Hands clamp on Jack’s shoulders, and he yelps. And the moment is gone. He hears a mischievous snicker behind him.

“You… asshole!” Jack smacks him a bit too hard, but that’s because he doesn’t know how to feel with the odd combination of bashfulness and jitters. The whacks don’t seem to be helping though; the laughs just keep getting harder.

The lights flick on and he sees the full extent of his friend’s mirth. “I… I got you good!” Mark barely manages to get out. A dazzling display of expressions animates Mark’s face. And yet no matter how hard he tries, Jack can’t stay mad. So he joins in.

“Fine, fine, I’ll hand to ya,” Jack concedes and he looks around the room. Decorated in oranges and blacks, it’s a tasteful setup filled with cutouts of bats, pumpkins and everything Halloween-related. He’s impressed at the man’s fervor for this holiday.

Jack hears Mark’s laughter dying down and before he can second-guess himself wraps him in a hug. “But seriously. Thanks for today. This was a nice change from the shitty weeks I’ve been having,” he admits, the words flowing out with gratitude.

“Aw, shucks. I couldn’t forget your birthday. Speaking of,” Mark wanders over to the table, “I brought cake and cookies. Your favorites too,” he wiggles his eyebrows. It takes Jack a moment to process what he said.

Oh no.

“I may have brought a bit too much,” he says not-so-innocently, “but whatever’s leftover we can… something wrong?” Just then, Mark notices Jack’s silence.

“No,” Jack snaps, mouth twitching. It takes all his effort to keep his gaze on Mark. “I-I don’t want any.”

A questioning stare. Then, an impish smile. “Someone’s being a grumpy wumpus.”

Jack crosses his arms. “I am not. I just don’t want any, that’s all.” Suddenly the throb in his chest gets louder, and he can barely hear his own voice over it.

Mark gives him a peculiar look, then says, “Okay. Fine. But… just lemme do one thing.” He steps a little closer. “Close your eyes.”

Despite all the noise going on inside his head, Jack can’t help but wonder where this is going. “Wh-why?”

“Just do it.” He hesitates for just a beat, but complies. The jump in his heart almost makes him nauseous.

Then, he hears a holler and a suspiciously hand-shaped glob of gooey mass slams into his cheek. The impact makes him stumble but he remains standing, temporarily stunned. Before his brain can even fully process it, he realizes what happened: the stupid idiot got him _caked_. Freaking embarrassing… as is evident by the raucous laughter in front of him.

It’s caking his lips and cheek, and the two thoughts that logically follow are: one, Mark touched his lips – he tries to not dwell on that thought for too long – and two, no cake should be left to waste so his tongue darts out to lick up the smeared remains. It’s cookie dough. His favorite.

He hasn’t had cake in so long. And just too late he remembers why.

Flashback: the fire, the smell, the smoke. The desire. Familiar sparks electrify his veins as the taste hits his tongue. He fucked up. He fucked up bad.

“Mark, I need to leave. Like- like _now_.” He somehow manages to force words out of his throat and turns around, but he doesn’t even get to take a step before a hand latches firmly onto his arm.

“Hey, wait just a minute here.” He’s turned back around, and Mark’s face is a mix of wariness and curiosity. Mostly curiosity. “Don’t I remember man-handling a certain someone from throwing the whole candy aisle into our cart that one time we were supposed to just get a few snacks?” There’s a certain amusement twinkling in his eyes. “You on a diet or something? What ever happened to that guy?”

Jack remembers. It’s a fond memory. But there’s no dwelling on that now. Too much going on. “Listen,” His muscles are tense, but he has a death grip on Mark. It’s begun; too late to hide now. “No matter what happens, I just want you to know that… I’m still me.”He’d scoff at that but all his senses are on high gear and it’s the best he can do.

A disbelieving stare. “Excuse me?”

Finally, the throbbing goes away. Now the waiting begins. But nothing changes like he expects it to. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

Mark frowns, waiting expectantly. “Well?” There’s a touch of a laugh in the word. No answer. More waiting. Then, Mark shakes his head, shrugging off Jack’s grip and turning away. “Now that you’re done worrying me-”

“Mark. Look.” The man sighs, patience spent, but he obeys. Then he does a double take.

Unblinking, still as a statue. Mark’s mouth hangs open but no sound comes out. Step by agonizingly slow step, he approaches until he’s mere feet away. “Is that…” He licks dry lips. “Can I…” he brings up a hand, something shimmering in his eyes. Jack doesn’t know what exactly.

Jack nods. A hand brushes over his face, light as a feather. Fingers gently graze over, and he pulls back his hand, feeling the dark blue strands between his fingers. He turns a fascinated stare at Jack. “Wow… Is this… what you wanted to show me?” His voice is barely above a whisper. “What you’ve been hiding?”

Jack isn’t sure, but it doesn’t sound like Mark is fearful of him. Or maybe he’s just in shock. He doesn’t know. Still, it wouldn’t do any good for Jack to get his hopes up. “Yeah. I didn’t want you to find out…”

“Are you a werewolf?” Mark asks, dumbfounded, and Jack has to suppress a humorless chuckle. Leave it to Mark to ask the straightforward questions. He’s probably not aware how silly the question sounds. Even in context.

Jack hesitates for a long moment. Then, he opens his mouth and emits a perfect, flawless meow.

Immediately Mark bursts into spontaneous laughter, and it sounds like it’s coming from deep within himself because he keeps on laughing to the point of wheezing, clinging on to the table next to him. It’s… not the reaction Jack was expecting. But he is thankful that his fur is covering his flustered expression.

“You’re a… you’re a _werecat!_ ” Mark pants out, collecting himself.

Jack crosses his arms, looking everywhere but Mark’s direction. “Well, it’s not my choice, is it?” he sputters out. “I didn’t _want_ this to happen…”

“What’re you talking about, I’d kill to be in your position!” Jack snaps his head to Mark. “I mean, just look at you,” he moves up closer without hesitation and hovers his hand over the same spot, skimming the tips of the fur. “If I were you, I’d be showing this off to everyone. I don’t know what you’re so afraid of because this is just too cool, it’s unreal. You’re… it’s beautiful.” He says the last part ever so softly. A short but thick silence. Jack can barely breathe.

“I dunno how this whole… _thing_ … works,” Mark waves in his direction. “But who _cares_. I know one thing for sure: you’re still my friend. Jack.” And that warms Jack’s heart more than anything.

“Believe me, I don’t get it myself. This shit happened to me pretty recently,” Jack eventually says, and it’s like a weight is lifted off his shoulders. He’s so glad his secret is shared with someone he truly cares for.

A thoughtful silence. Then, “Wow, a werewolf– I mean, werecat,” Mark corrects himself. And there’s more than a hint of tease in there. And Jack realizes something.

Mark’s not afraid of him. Mark is _not_ afraid of him.

“You know,” Mark starts, and Jack can hear the teasing just beginning, “you kinda look like the furry, less buff version of Wolverine…”

Jack gives an unimpressed look. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I’m giving you a compliment, aren’t I?” Mark winks. “So how far down does the fur go…?”

Butterflies in his stomach. Only Mark can do that. “You ass. I’m gonna get more cookies.”

______

The two men play for about half an hour more but along with the late night and dim lights, the session is more subdued. And yet, tired from the stress and worry, Jack doesn’t want to leave the comforting presence next to him. Somehow Mark had sidled up to Jack’s side of the couch and was currently snugly pressed into his side. Sneaky bastard, taking advantage of his fur. Sapping away his will to move…

“Sorry for pressurizing you,” a rumble vibrates through his being. Jack is so far beyond being embarrassed by now he might as well deal with it. Which he doesn’t mind at all. “You know, for pushing you to do something you didn’t want to. I feel like I ruined today.”

“Bullshit.” He can feel how upset Mark is on his behalf. It bothers him so much. “Without your stubbornness I couldn’t possibly catch up on my long-overdue cookie and cake binging. Besides, it’s a relief to get it off my chest now.”

“I’m glad.” the body relaxes, melting into his side. “I’m glad...”

A few minutes pass filled with soft clicks on the controller. Jack’s arm is around Mark. How did that get there? Ah, screw it. He’s too drowsy to figure that out.

Another laugh reverberates through his ribs. Jack can get used to this feeling. Then, “Cookie Monster…” Next, it’s full-blown giggles. He feels a head burying into his side, hiccupping hot breaths seeping through his sweatshirt. “…The _Cookie Monster_ …!” Long inhales punctuate the words, and Mark laughs greatly, clutching at the fabric of Jack’s hoodie.

“Oh, go fuck yourself…” He gives a shove, but it’s really just a tiny nudge. Whatever. Mark’s laugh is music. Even at his expense.

“Because you eat cookies,” Mark speaks into his clothing, “and then you grow blue fur… just like the Cookie Monster!” He raises his head to see if Jack is as amused as he is. Nope. Not even a little bit. “Oh, fine, I’ll figure out a better name for you…”

Mark shuffles and grows still, the even rise and fall of his chest moving against Jack’s side. The only thing Jack can feel is a drunken happiness that he’s all too willing to drown in, and it’s better than any conventional intoxication he’s ever experienced. Is this what it’s like? To be–

“Green.”

A voice jerks him out of his contemplations. Mark is looking at him again, with that magnificent glimmer in his eyes. He’s been doing that a lot tonight. “Neon green.”

Jack steadily keeps the gaze. “‘Neon green’ what?”

“We _need_ to dye your fur neon green.”

Jack doesn’t even get to complete his enormous eye-roll before Mark speaks again, “Obviously, we won’t be going to a salon so I’ll buy the dye on my own, search that shit up on the Internet and bam: green Jackaboy,” he pans his arm across, announcer-style.

He grunts in response. “More like obnoxious-green Jackaboy.”

“Nonsense, you’re never obnoxious,” Mark counters with a surprising amount of conviction. A hand launches out and cups Jack’s chin, bringing it around to face him. Intense emotion swirls in vivid eyes. “You hear me? You’re never annoying.” The face is really close. “Not at all.”

The air shifts, palpable. Jack stays completely still, utterly at a loss at what to do. Is this really happening? Wait, he’s pretty sure he wants this to happen, but is this shit _seriously_ happening? Even after all that’s occurred tonight, or is he just misreading it? He leans forward, heart pounding. No, he can feel it in his guts… And then he feels it. A sneeze.

“Ah, no…” he tilts his head back. This is happening at an even _worse_ timing. Someone give him the World Record for Worst Timings on Earth.

“Ah-choo!” As soon as it’s let fly, a familiar tingle all over his skin takes over and, as it always does, is accompanied with a feeling of lightness. And he’s returned to normal. Finally, something he’s prepared for.

What he’s not prepared for is the sputtering mess at his side spouting out curse words of all the colors of the rainbow, complete with a set of flailing arms. “Oh my god Mark, I’m so sorry. I should’ve told-” His sentence is abruptly cut off with an elbow jab straight in the ribs, of which Jack was unfortunately on the receiving end.

“Jesus Christ, where did all this fucking hair come from? Argh, it’s everywhere…”

Rubbing at his sore side, Jack says, “Oh relax, don’t be such a baby. This happens all the time.” He stands and removes his sweatshirt to pluck at the t-shirt underneath, shaking out a good amount of blue fur onto the floor.

He hears a strangled squeak and snorts at the comical look on Mark’s face. “I thought this stuff just, I dunno, disappears after a while.”

Jack wiggles his legs and more hair falls out of his pants. “Yeah well, turns out that’s not the case. There’s gotta be a bit of realism here,” he sarcastically points out. “I’ll get the broom.”

By the time they finish cleaning up, it’s past midnight and Jack should really get going. He doesn’t want to inconvenience Mark. Even if he thinks neither of them would mind.

“Well. This is going to be a problem for the dyeing project,” Mark comments, looking down at the mess in the garbage.

Jack closes the lid. “Oh god, I thought you were just joking. Don’t tell me you’re actually gonna do that.” Based on the look he’s getting, it’s very likely. “But if it makes you happy…” he shrugs helplessly.

They’re at the door now. With all the stress and confusion of tonight finally settling in his bones, Jack realizes he’s physically – and emotionally – exhausted. Whatever took place tonight he’d sort through it all tomorrow. Now he just wants to go to sleep.

But at least he’s finally warm again.

“Hey, Jack.” A feather-light touch at his arm.  A compassionate smile. And affection in his eyes. “It’s our secret.”

Jack grins. And it’s all that needs to be said.

______

The door clicks shut.

Mark looks on for a long while before clapping his hand on his forehead, letting out a long groan. What a stupid, _stupid_ idiot. What did he think he was doing back there? Mark, the insensitive douchebag: ‘making a move on his friend after said friend drops an earthshattering revelation’ was not the best way to try and further their friendship into something more.

His mouth twists into a scowl. God damn, he made it sound like he’s only trying to get into Jack’s pants instead of describing the man who won’t let go of his heart. He moves to the kitchen sink, taking out his seeping frustrations out on the dirty dishes. There’s no way Jack likes him after tonight.

No. He does. He _does_ , he’s sure of it.

He lets out a scoff and starts to pace aimlessly. Why is he even thinking about this anyway? His friend just came out to him as a freaking werewolf – sorry, werecat – and he’s more worried about whether or not Jack’s _into_ him.

Nah, dealing with Jack being a werecat is easier than this.

His gaze begins to glance past the couch when he spots a sweatshirt splayed out over the armrest. Crap. It’s Jack’s. He must’ve forgotten it after their… what exactly could he call it? Videogames and chill? Cuddling session? He picks it up. It’s still warm in his hands. Whatever it was, Mark enjoyed every bit of it. Maybe in the future there’ll be more…

“Oh Jesus…” This _really_ isn’t what he should be focusing on now.

He holds the sweatshirt close and feels something poke against his stomach. Curious, he holds it out and finds a bulging pocket filled with thick papers. He takes one out: Jack’s mail.

Right. He should return this. But tomorrow. This can wait until tomorrow… Or. Or he could go out, right now, and lay everything out clearly, once and for all. Mark’s feelings, that is. Not the mail.

Jack shared his secret with him. He holds the sweatshirt close and with renewed determination, strides towards the door.

It’s time he share his own secrets.


End file.
